


prelude

by birbwell



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, WIP, and more of a background to saxwell, i wrote this like 3 years ago and didnt bother revamping, ok so its less saxwell, please be gentle on my soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23517064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birbwell/pseuds/birbwell
Summary: The great Saxton Hale isn't used to heartbreak.
Relationships: Saxton Hale/Bidwell, Saxton Hale/Mags, Saxton Hale/Mr. Bidwell
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	prelude

**Author's Note:**

> this little thing was supposed to be a prelude to how hale and bidwell came together from hale's pov, but i never really finished it?? i dug it out years after writing so here it is. i might write a more polished and coherent version of the concept if this is... good :eyes:

Maggie seems to be upset.

Saxton likes to say seems because there's still a little flicker of hope inside him that maybe she's not upset. He says seems because it's hard to tell when he's drunken himself into a hazy stupor.

But he dials her number on the telephone for what seems to be the eighth time this day, and there's no one waiting on the other side. So he leaves a voice message. He can't tell what he's saying because at this point, he's just running his mouth in desperation.

Sometimes it's something short, like, "Mags, babe, can we talk? I miss you."

Sometimes he's angry ("not at her, no, but at myself", he says to himself, but really, he's disappointed in the both of them), "Sorry, I know things are rough, but I care. I'm phoning you from my fucking room right now. I should be at Mann Co, at a shareholder's meeting, but here I am. Fucking answer. Please."

Sometimes he calls, but he finds that he simply doesn't have the energy to speak, or that his tongue suddenly feels like lead, so he hangs up.

But all the same, she doesn't answer.

So yes, Maggie is upset. With him. Shit.

*  
Saxton and Maggie do manage to meet up sometimes, largely at the man's insistence.

He takes her to the Amazons in South America to hunt down beasts and whatnot, just like old times. And for a moment, when Maggie smashes a panther's skull in with a well-placed jab and flashes him a smile, Saxton's heart jumps in his ribcage and he smiles back. He's fallen in love all over again, and it fucking sucks.

Then, if they're not punching whatever poor wildlife they've come across, they're having sex. Saxton relishes in it because it reminds him of the good old days when they were young and foolish and in love (and also because Maggie is amazing in bed). When they're tangled in the sheets and her fingers intertwine with his, it feels like they're together and happy again. It feels like he has one more chance at a fairytale ending.

But now, as Saxton lies on the edge of the bed, bruises from where Maggie's pressed angry fingers a little too hard and aches from earlier rows, he's not sure anymore.  
He shifts and looks over his shoulder to where Maggie lies. She is most certainly not asleep, judging by the little tremors wracking her form and the quick, choppy breathing. Crying.

Lying naked in a disheveled king-sized bed in a Brazilian hotel, he wonders what they are. Over? But she hadn't said anything. Neither has he. Everything was a metronome, a blur of soft smiles and hoarse yelling. But Saxton was never good at metaphors. He can't bend the metal hand to a stop because it wasn't real. And he certainly can't punch his way out of this. 

Maybe they are cowards.

*  
Shit. Saxton was having such a good day up until this point. Weekly sales for new product up, market share wider, more money in his pocket, and a new shipment of feral gorillas for the upcoming Wednesday – what's not to love? He's giddy as hell when his assistant relays the message to him in his office.

So as per usual, he phones Maggie, ready to talk her ear off about his bright day. He freezes as he is about to hit the final number on the keypad.

Idiot.

Biting back a grunt, he roughly pushes the phone back in its place. His assistant cocks a brow at that. Saxton tenses, having forgotten that he was standing right there, and mutters, "Force of habit."

*  
Saxton's assistant blinks at him, staring as if he had grown another head. "What?"

Saxton stares back, almost as confused as him. "Paperwork. There something wrong with that?"

“No,” he sputters, “it’s just…”

“Yeah, yeah, paperwork is for balding pencil pushers and hippies, I get it.”

“Are you feeling well, sir?”

For the first time, Saxton properly gives his assistant a onceover. Briefly, he realizes how high employee turnover is at Mann Co. because wasn’t his assistant shorter and, well, a woman last time? How did she die again? No matter. 

His assistant looks to be, by all intents and purposes, just another suited face in a sea of suited faces. Saxton can’t tell if he’s tall – at six foot seven, everyone is short to him – but he can tell that he’s shrunken in alarm. His spindly frame is tensed under his pressed suit, and perched above that is a young face wearing an apprehensive expression.

His assistant surprisingly looks alive then, staring at him with a doe-eyed look on his face. He suddenly feels like he should know him, place a name to a suit. 

“I apologize. It’s not my place to ask,” he murmurs, eyes flitting about the tiled floor. His head droops a touch, and Saxton is left staring at an apologetic head of dark hair.   
It’s an embarrassing display – he wants to shake his shoulders and tell him to stop being so disgustingly contrite because, dammit, he feels like shit (briefly he hears Maggie’s voice telling him he is, then he pushes that down) but his assistant looks up before he can reach out and says, “I shall fetch them at once.”

Saxton watches as he turns and disappears through the giant double doors. He listens to the sharp clap of his heel against the tile until it peters out. He nearly scoffs- pity from a subordinate? The worst part, though, is the fact that he doesn't seem to hate it as much as he should.


End file.
